


Basic Sexpionage

by growntiredofthisbody



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Grinding, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Making Out, Roleplay, Rope Bondage, catsuits, it's implied. but it's there, the classic "evil spy seduces the good guy" thing. you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growntiredofthisbody/pseuds/growntiredofthisbody
Summary: Abed's having trouble writing his first real movie script, Police Justice. Troy agrees to help act out a scene.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 5
Kudos: 131





	Basic Sexpionage

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back and once again i am going to create a universe that is so self-indulgent
> 
> sexpionage is a real word. would have been funnier if i had just made it up but oh well

When Troy gets back from Wednesday afternoon football practice, the first thing he sees is a pile of paper balls in the middle of the room. The second thing he sees is Abed, tossing another crumpled sheet onto the heap. He doesn’t look happy, and Troy’s already on his way to hug him before that even sinks in.

Abed accepts the hug, and rests his head on Troy’s shoulder. It feels like he relaxes a little, though maybe Troy’s imagining that. “Hey, Troy.”

“Hey, Abed. What’s up?” He hopes it’s something he can fix, preferably with more hugs and a long night of TV. Living together has been great for basically everything except their sleep schedule. “Rough day?”

He hears a soft sigh, close to his ear. “It’s this one scene.” Abed points to the pile of discarded paper. Then he realises Troy can’t see what he’s doing, so he steps back and does it again. “I can’t get it right. No matter what I try, it ends up somewhere completely unrealistic.”

Troy’s generally of the opinion that the less realistic something is, the more awesome it tends to be, but Abed’s tense shoulders and clipped voice suggest that this is really bothering him, more than the usual creative frustration. He bends down to pick up one of the papers, smoothing it out as he stands back up.

“Police Justice,” he reads from the top of the page. Abed watches him, expression kept carefully blank, as it always is when Troy reads something he wrote or watches something he filmed.

It’s not easy to read. Abed usually has nice handwriting, and lays all his scripts out neatly. This sheet’s covered in hastily written notes that crowd the spaces in the margins and between the lines, and frantic crossing-out and rewriting of various lines. Troy can’t keep his focus from jumping all over the place, picking up random snippets that only make him _less_ certain of what’s going on.

After a minute of squinting in vain, he looks up and shakes his head. “Help?”

“I’m writing a movie,” Abed explains. “A mainstream one, so I can get into the industry and then start making what I really want to. There’s cops, explosions, a heterosexual love triangle with a blonde and a brunette… everything Hollywood wants.” He picks up another paper, that looks a lot like the one Troy’s holding.

“Agent Order gets captured by the enemy spies.” He points at an especially scribbled-over portion of the page. “Then the _femme fatale_ head spy ties him up and seduces him into giving up Police Justice’s location. It’s meant to be sexy and a little bit ridiculous, but it’s just…” He balls up the paper again, and tosses it back into the pile. “Completely ridiculous.”

“That sounds cool,” Troy comments, letting his own paper fall to the floor. He might not be able to contribute as much as he had hoped- he can usually fake more sexual knowledge than he actually has, through other people’s anecdotes and the amount of confidence required to carry them, but Abed has this sharp _look_ that he gives Troy when he knows he’s lying that cuts right through the bravado. Friends don’t mess with each other, Troy. Not even when it’s embarrassing. Not even when it’s scary. Not even when you don’t really know what the truth is, or whether knowing would make you feel any better.

“You’re right, Troy.” Abed speaks suddenly, and Troy nearly jumps.

“About what?”

Abed taps at the paper, which he’s holding again. Troy didn’t see him pick it up. “You spaced out, so I just started imagining what I thought you would say. You made a really good point.” He brandishes the script, which is different from the one he was holding before, but equally illegible. “How can I write a scene like this if I haven’t lived it? Anyone can write an exploding car chase, but this is about _emotion._ An internal conflict between desire and loyalty, the present and the future. I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

Desire and loyalty. Troy knows all about them. “So you want me to help with the emotional stuff?” He’s gotten really good at that, mostly because the study group doesn’t laugh at him or call him a crybaby when he needs to let it out. “Sure, just show me the rest of the script and I’ll-“

“No.” Abed throws the paper down, and grabs Troy’s shoulders. His grip’s gentle, suggesting that he did it for dramatic effect rather than an actual need to have hold of him. “I need to live that scene, Troy. Then I’ll understand it.”

“Oh,” he says. Then he gets what Abed meant. _“Oh.”_

“And that’s okay?” Abed asks, when he sees Troy figure it out. “Even the tying-up part? It might get a little more… intense than the Kickpuncher scene.”

Troy makes a dismissive noise. “Yeah, no problem. I can handle it.”

* * *

Abed must have known, Troy decides as he sits in a wooden chair, patiently waiting for Abed to bring the rope from the Dreamatorium. “You tempted fate, Troy.” Abed’s voice echoes in his head. Usually he likes that his thoughts sound like Abed, because it’s like he’s always there even when he isn’t, but now it feels like he’s being taunted. “I warned you about tempting fate. Now you know what’s going to happen, right?”

“Yeah,” Troy answers, in a thought-voice that sounds like himself. It’ll be confusing if they both sound like Abed. “He’ll find out I don’t have side adventures like he does. But it’ll be fine, because best friends are still best friends even if one of them isn’t having sex all the time.”

It takes a second for the Abed voice to respond. “Oh, _that’s_ what we were worried about? Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem. Let’s go.”

Right on cue, the real Abed walks in, carrying a coil of rope.

Apparently, that’s not all he found in there.

Troy’s eyes widen before he can help it. He didn’t even know they _owned_ something like this, but here Abed is, in a catsuit so perfectly fitted to his form that it could almost be part of him. The latex (it’s made of _latex???)_ shines whenever he moves, continually drawing Troy’s attention to places that friends aren’t supposed to notice. Not even best friends, not even best best friends, and not even what Troy and Abed are, which is so much higher that the number of “best”s wouldn’t even fit in his brain.

Abed walks slowly, sensually, each step punctuated by the tapping of his thigh-high boots. It’s different enough that he’s definitely playing a character, but the soft satisfaction on his face keeps Troy stubbornly anchored into reality. If he lets go now, with Abed smiling as if his control of the situation’s so unquestionable that he doesn’t even need to assert it, who knows what’ll happen?

“Agent Order. We finally meet.” His voice comes out as a low purr. (Is that why it’s called a catsuit? Troy resolves to look that up later, optimistically assuming that he’ll remember thinking about it.) It's wildly different from how he usually sounds, but still unmistakably Abed. “Well, you finally meet me. I’ve been watching you for a _long_ time.” He bends down until their faces are level, taking the opportunity to push his chest out and arch his back.

He should laugh. He would if anyone else were doing this. He tries to, but it gets stuck in his throat and refuses to be dislodged. Maybe he should have drank more water today. “Let me go,” he demands, remembering he’s supposed to be acting. “I’ll never tell you where Police Justice is!”

“Hmm?” Abed glances up at him, then back down to the rope he’s holding, as if Troy isn’t even worth his time. “They taught you a lot at the academy, Agent, but clearly manners weren’t in the curriculum. Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite for a guest to leave so soon?”

He holds up the rope. Now that he’s closer, Troy can see it’s not a single coil after all. He counts four of them, thin and long and bright green, which doesn’t really fit the theme at all. He decides not to point that out- not when they’re being used to secure his wrists and ankles to the chair, knots pulled tightly enough to linger on the edge of pain. He tests them out, and he swears he sees Abed’s eyes glitter when he can’t move his arms or legs.

“There. Now we can talk.” Abed takes a step back, and Troy’s suddenly grateful he’s tied up, because he can feel himself trying to lean forward. “Forget about Police Justice, Agent. This is about you… no, it’s about _us._ You feel something, don’t you?”

Troy feels a _lot_ of somethings, most of which are actively fighting each other to be the one and only something. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds, managing with herculean effort to keep his voice clear. “You spies will say anything to get what you want.”

“You’re right about that, Agent.” Voice still low and breathy, Abed delicately leans down, placing a hand on Troy’s shoulder to steady himself. “But they told you it’s wrong, didn’t they?” He brings his other hand to Troy’s face, and cups his cheek. If he notices how warm it is, he doesn’t show it. “They don’t appreciate you. But there’s nothing wrong with you, Troy. There’s nothing wrong with wanting this.”

“Cut.” He gives Abed a lopsided grin, because he definitely didn’t mean to say Troy’s name just now. It’s a simple mistake, anyone could make it.

“We can redo that bit later,” Abed whispers into his ear, too quiet for the imaginary cameras to pick up on. “Just keep going.”

“R-right.” He shakes his head, as if he can physically remove whatever’s making him feel dizzy whenever Abed gets close. Weirdly enough, the rapid head movement only really makes him dizzier. He needs a moment to think of what to say next.

“I made a promise to serve this country,” he breathes, forcing himself to look at Abed’s face. It doesn’t clear his head much more than staring at anything covered by the catsuit. “You think I’m throwing all that away for a night of pleasure I could get from anyone?”

Abed laughs, and strokes Troy’s cheek. “Oh, but it could be so much more than a night. What do you think, Agent?” When he catches Troy looking down again, he slips his hand under his chin, and tilts his head back up to the perfect angle to stare into each other’s eyes. “We could run away together. No more missions, no more spying, no more doing all the work and getting none of the credit… just us. Just this.”

Absorbed by his deep, dark eyes, Troy doesn’t realise he’s getting closer until their lips meet. Despite the tension of the scene, it’s a gentle kiss, and only the ropes prevent him from wrapping his arms around Abed.

It’s better than the Kickpuncher scene. They had to be careful with that one- Troy’s cardboard-and-foil costume could easily have been ruined by an overenthusiastic embrace, and he had to maintain the emotional detachment of a repressed cyborg. Now, despite the physical restraints, his emotions are free to do what they want.

That’s why he makes a quiet whining sound when Abed breaks the kiss. He’s a good friend, who’s not afraid to get into a character. It seems like Abed appreciates that- he can barely keep a smile off his face, and it’s not the confident smirk of a spy.

“The choice is yours, Agent,” he whispers, voice unwavering. Hands still lightly holding Troy’s shoulder and chin, he kicks a leg up onto the chair’s arm, using it to push himself up and gently land in Troy’s lap. He looks more than happy with his position- legs draped over one of Troy’s arms, leaning back against the other, and perfectly placed to whisper directly into his ear. “Police Justice? Or real justice?”

He shifts his hips a little, getting comfortable. Troy might not have even noticed, if Abed hadn’t been sitting directly over his crotch. When he moves, latex-covered skin brushes against the front of his pants, sending sparks right through every place his nerves can reach. He’s pretty sure he feels them short-circuit part of his brain, specifically the part that _doesn’t_ think kissing Abed right now is the best idea he’s ever had.

Abed tastes like lip balm and sugary cereal, neither of them strong enough to pick up on until they’ve kissed more than once, more than twice, more than any number Troy cares enough to count up to. By the time he’s identified either taste, he’s forgetting that he’s tied up, reminding himself every few seconds when he tries to reach for Abed.

He’s not left without the closeness his hands are kept from searching for. Abed’s arm finds its way around his shoulder, and he keeps lightly stroking Troy’s chin and cheek with his other hand. It’s all very precise, as if he’s already written the scene out and just has to follow it- but he had claimed that he couldn’t write it until he lived it. Has this become something else?

That’s the last question he asks himself for a while, because Abed starts moving in his lap again, and the part of his brain that cares about knowing those things is next to go. The part that cares about keeping his mouth slightly open so Abed can slip his tongue inside remains fully functional.

The kissing doesn’t slow down, but Abed gradually seems to shift more attention to rocking back and forth against Troy, from a few maybe-incidental movements to a sustained pattern. It feels good, Troy thinks, and he doesn’t know why. The _not-knowing-why_ part of the thought comes later than the _feeling-good_ part, but it rushes in with much more urgency, as if the two parts were connected by a rubber band that was pulled almost far enough to snap.

He still can’t move his arms or legs, and Abed sitting on him limits the movement of the rest of his body, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely out of options. Seeking even more friction, his hips make a small thrust upward. It sends an even bigger shock into his system than anything they’ve done up until now, so overwhelming that he doesn’t even pause to consider whether he should do it again.

The second thrust’s much bigger, because it only comes into contact with air. Abed picks that moment, _of all moments,_ to pull back and get off Troy’s lap. He takes a deep breath, not seeming to notice Troy’s shock. “Okay. That’s all I need, I should be able to write it now.”

He bends down to start untying Troy from the chair, no longer exaggerating all his movements in the manner of a _femme fatale._ In fact, everything he was doing to imitate that type of character appears to have vanished all at once- while working at the knots, he hums something that Troy’s almost certain is the Spider-Man theme song.

His brain must not have recovered yet, because it’s still kind of hot. Waiting to get back to normal, he silently watches until the ropes are all undone, stretching his arms and legs as soon as he can. They were getting a little cramped, not that he cared until now.

Abed waits for him to stand up, then smiles a little. “Thanks for the help. It’s going to be a great movie.” Usually they’d do their handshake after a successful scene, but this time he pulls Troy into a hug, a tight one that presses their bodies right up against each other.

Despite the closeness, it doesn’t last long. Abed steps back abruptly, before Troy can say anything. “I’m going to change,” he says, pointing at the Dreamatorium before walking into it and closing the door behind him.

Troy looks down, thoughts still moving slowly. The Kickpuncher scene, filmed when they still hadn’t completely known each other, had been done carefully. While it might have looked like sex on film, in reality it hadn’t been much more than a few kisses and pretend thrusts, their lower halves separated by several blankets underneath the sheets. If it was even possible to get hard in that situation, it’s not as if either of them would have been able to tell.

Catsuits don’t really hide anything.

He takes the first opportunity to be distracted from this train of thought- a tiny creaking sound, coming from the other side of the room. Briefly scanning the room, nothing looks noisy. The TV’s off, the kitchen’s empty, the Dreamatorium’s door sits slightly open…

When he looks at the Dreamatorium’s door, it opens a little wider.

Oh.

Abed never leaves it unlocked by accident.

Troy stares at the door for a long time, much longer than it should take anyone to get changed. What’ll happen, if he walks into that room? He has a pretty good idea of what would happen _in the room,_ but afterwards…

The great thing about him and Abed is that they don’t really change a lot. Everyone else has their weird, ever-evolving friendship/romance dynamics, loving each other one week and not being able to stand each other by the next, but no matter what craziness is happening, they can always count on Troy and Abed being happy together.

Everyone needs that. Troy needs that.

When he takes a single step forward, his hands and feet go numb. A second one, and he feels like he’s walking through cement.

A third step doesn’t happen. He stops, looks down again, and goes to take a shower.

* * *

Two years later, Abed shows “Police Justice” to someone besides Troy for the first time.

He’s still not impressed with Hickey, but his real-life experience could be valuable. He understands things that nobody else in the Save Greendale Committee does- and more importantly, he _doesn’t_ understand things that the rest of the committee _would._

When he gets to the spy seducing the agent, he nods once and flips to the next page.

“Not bad,” he says when he hands the script back. “Could use some more heart-punching, but it’s pretty solid overall.”

“Thank you.” Abed pauses. “Actually, do you mind reading it again in a few days? I might make some more changes.”

“Sure,” Hickey grunts, and returns to his cartoon ducks.

* * *

Abed stares at the script.

It’s the only scene he’s bothered to look at. Each word reminds him of something new, a kiss or a meaningful look or just the general feeling of closeness.

All of it reminds him of waiting, alone in the Dreamatorium.

His pencil trails across paper, softly underlining the bottom of the page.

What if it had been different?

He grabs a blank sheet from his desk, and starts writing.

A week later, he prints out the newest version of the script.

It’s the biggest change he’s made since actually writing it. Instead of going back to Police Justice and catching the criminals, Agent Order runs off with the head spy. They talk a lot, and the agent realises that the police and intelligence departments are actually pretty corrupt and oppressive, and that he’s much better off without them. They kiss, the spy keeps fighting the system, and they live a happy life together.

He doesn’t know exactly when he shifted from writing the spy as a standard Hollywood-attractive woman to a slightly-too-tall, slightly-too-skinny, brown-skinned man (who, coincidentally, looks _incredible_ in a catsuit), but he finds it impossible to stop. He goes back and changes everything accordingly.

It has a lot less mainstream appeal than the original version. It might even get backlash. But maybe someone, far away from Greendale, will watch it and feel a little less like a villain.

That would make the waiting worth it, even if it never ends.

**Author's Note:**

> "Troy thought it was hilarious. I didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't a comedy." - Season 5, Episode 7


End file.
